


Everything We Keep

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2018-10-07 22:31:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10371189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: Following the unseating of the mad tyrant, his firstborn son understood to do everything in his power to keep the peace in the realm. But two queens, each with an heir to offer, no matter how civil in their conduct, allow for ample opportunity should some unscrupulous soul see fit to sow the seed of discord.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jon gave his lady mother a brief glance, wondering not for the first time if she would not rather leave these matters to him and have some rest. Or to the master. The Seven knew she had more than enough to deal with. “We could take a break,” he suggested, catching the rolling marble which had somehow found its way onto the table. It would, of course, be futile to search for the master of this toy.

“My apologies, Jon. I cannot seem to concentrate on anything.” She laughed softly, might be at her own flightiness in that moment. “A break would be just the thing.” Lyanna stood, the heavy braid previously coiled in her lap plummeting to the ground which it never quite reached.

He helped her, conscientious despite having been assured multiple times that she would not fall apart at the slightest gust of wind passing by. He simply could not help himself. “Lady mother, have I not said you are not to force yourself?”

“That’s an attitude,” she answered, amusement rife in her words. “I am not such an old wolf yet that you may take the reins from me. Wait but the few days and you shall have all the control you desire. More so than you desire, I should think.”

Denial surged upon his lips. But then what was there to deny? He’s been raised with the expectation that he would, one day, be lord of his own keep. “Is it not in the very nature of the human?” He helped her around the stubby-legged table. “Besides, lady mother, I have faith in my driving skills.”

“And I have faith as well.” Jon was not precisely certain he believed that. If his mother lied, than she did so with the consensus of her own conscience. Which in part had to mean there was at least a seed of belief somewhere in there. “I’d not dared hope you would be quite so eager to grow up when you’ve no need to.”

A few days away from his six-and-tenth nameday and his mother would have him believe he needn’t grow. Jon offered a slight smile. Having reached the stairs, he walked before her, allowing much of her weight to settle upon him. “There are children in this keep to dote upon,” he pointed out. Her murmur of assent fed the reliability of the assertion. “Valaena would be an obvious target for motherly consideration.”

“I do not think my back can take her shenanigans.” Still there was no bite to be discerned. “What she could benefit from is a bit of her father’s attention.” Her fingers curled around his shoulder. Jon recalled a time far, far away, when his fingers had curled around her shoulder. As a boy, he’d been wholly dependent on her. It made sense to him that she would lean as heavily as she did on his now. “I just want to make certain you are prepared.”

He paused, his foot planted firmly upon the last stair. Jon glanced over his shoulder at her. She was still standing a few steps behind him, elevated a bit above his own height. “I will be six-and-ten in a few days, lady mother; if that many years have taught me naught, then a hundred more shan’t either.”

A chuckle came forth. “Six-and-ten is not tremendously old, my boy. In fact, it’s as naught, when compared to the age amassed by men like Lord Frey.” Jon shuddered. He would be very pleased not to hear of Lord Frey for the foreseeable future. “And there is yet much to learn. When one is not yet master of himself, it would be foolish to give them reins; let alone encourage dangerous behaviour.” Be that as it may, he would still be a fully grown man and he would, by law, have those reins she lamented him receiving. His mother sighed.

Since there was very little he could do in the face of laws written in stone, as it were, he descended upon the solid level. His mother followed at a slower speed. “That was quite the exercise. Shall we take a stroll through the gardens?”

He nodded, pulling her slightly into his side. Once satisfied that they’d achieved a balance, he took to strolling along the corridor. His mother kept pace moderately well, though the slight limp she’d gained after her unfortunate brush with death persisting even at such slow a pace. Why she insisted on taking the slippery path to the garden however, he hadn’t quite figured out. Not that he would remain in such a state for long. Sooner or later she would expose her reasoning. It oft happened with the women in his family. And Jon had learned that one caught more flies with honey than with vinegar.

Once they had reached the arched dome looming over a carved inner gate, Jon let go of his mother and moved towards what seemed to him an out-of-place object. He bent at the waist in order to pick up a carelessly discarded bit of cloth. “Which one of my daughters is it?” Lyanna’s voice sounded in his ear.

“Which one was wearing blue?” Unfortunately for him, Jon had not yet saw an opportunity to train his memory regarding the wardrobe choices exhibited by his sisters. In his defence, five sisters made for a cacophony of colours and he’d never been that interested in the difference between icy-blue and sky-blue.

“Aella.” Thanked be the Seven. Jon tugged on the door, pulling it open. The metal squealed in protest at the rough handling. Rather like one of his sisters might in one of those games they frequently played. He turned to gaze at his mother. She had simply moved along the wall. “The pond, do you think?”

The pond was a very likely option. He shrugged. “If it were anywhere other than the pond she’d run off to, I would be very, very surprised. I would rather you remained here–”

“You may attempt to force my hand on this,” she allowed, “but you will fail.” He nodded. “I will just make my way at my own pace.”     

Allowing for the presumably danger Aella might find herself in as consequence of her unbridled adventurous nature, Jon suspected speed was as necessary to aiding her as breathing was to keeping him alive. With that process done, he simply turned around and sped along the wide causeway, ignoring the slight slippery condition of the stones. What he could not ignore nearly as successfully was the irritable feeling crawling up along his spine.

Aella knew their father would be arriving any day, along with their siblings and their mother. She knew, that was, that court would be gathered soon enough. Soon enough was a time estimate sufficiently narrow for her not to construe it an opportunity to be off gallivanting. And yet, despite ample warning to the contrary, she had still chosen to go off.

Veering along one of the side pathways, Jon watched the greenery infested pond, trying to catch sight of his sisters. To his great relief, the surface broke, allowing a rather pinched face through along with a headful of plastered hair. Aella saw him as well, for her eyes grew wide.

“Is this where you want to be right now?” he called out over the ambient sound. She’d not even had enough sense to go to a more private pool. His sister flailed her arms, shaking her head erratically. “Aella, can you hear me?”

“I can’t hear a thing!” she yelled out, her hands falling back down. Water splashed around her. “MY foot is caught.” And she was all the way on the other side. If he ran to the parallel path, he might be able to reach her. “Jon, it’s cold.”

That he could well believe. Without a doubt the approaching rainstorm would not be too inclined to spare her. But then, contemplating the possible fate of his sibling while she froze to death a few feet away from him was not how Jon envisioned himself spending his day. Indeed, he had this notion of knightly duty urging him forth, which he did follow at long last, dashing across the cobblestones.

Aella managed to somehow manoeuvre herself so that she faced him once he reached the other side. He could see her hands moving back and forth, the murky water only half-obscuring her motions. “How did you catch your leg?”

A frown crossed her features. “I dropped something. And then I dove in to get it back, but then I felt a weight on my ankle. I can’t get out.” The thin edge of desperation in her voice prompted an immediate response in him. Jon reached one hand out towards her, after he’d crouched.

“Might be I can pull you out. Here, hold my hand.” Both her hands shot out of the water, grabbing onto him. The wet, slippery grip coiled tightly around his wrist and just above it. And just as he prepared to drag his weight backwards and hopefully extricate Aella out of the muck. At the very same moment, his sister gave a sharp tug, upsetting his balance; she followed it with a second yank, this one unfortunately sending him toppling over, falling head-first into the pond.   

Stale water filled his mouth, causing him to cough violently. He did, however, manage to wrap his hands around his sister. Aella flailed in his grasp even harder than she had before, one of her legs kicking out. The massive amount of water surrounding them did cushion the worst of it.

Somehow, he managed to pull himself up standing straight. Even with the water rising high, it still came up only about to his shoulders. His sister, however, was not so lucky, being forced to keep moving unless she wanted to sink to the bottom like a heavy stone. “Caught your foot, have you?”

“Nay, but we have certainly caught you,” a third voice interrupted the unfolding reckoning.

He turned just enough to make out the form of the elder sister. Visenya’s arms were laden with what looked to be sheets. “Valaena is bringing some clothes and Aerea is explaining to mother that all is well.”

His leg pulled. By his own sisters. He should beat them all. “Why?”

“You were growing a bit too cocky. Truly, Jon; telling mother what stance she should adopt?”

“I am lord of this keep.”

“Not yet you’re not. There’s still days yet until you come into the title.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why the hell not?


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

Visenya thumbed through the stack of papers, stopping to read a few lines every now and again. “I do not know, brother. Challenging as Maester Qylian is, I do not think the idea he posits has any real grounding. He is talking about this greater good and theorises the gods themselves have built a sense of it into their creations while at the same time ignoring that there’s a myriad of people who do not fit his mould.”

“But at the same time many of them do.” Her sibling was still rubbing water out of his hair. “And you cannot ignore those who do for the simple fact that people exist who do not. The simple existence of a contrary example does not invalidate Qylian’s point.”

“Yes but his point cannot be wholly valid. It is not relevant as he posits it to anything other than songs. People like that, the driven knight who sees nothing beside his goal and who can climb any mountain no matter how high, are rare. One could go through their whole life without meeting them.” She placed the papers back upon the desk. “Generally speaking, that means they are a rarity.”

“What other option is there though? Of course you have Anonymous postulating that your whole life is a simple illusion. Is that more to your taste?” He threw the wet cloth away. It landed somewhere upon a chair. “What about meaning? What about ideals. If your life is indeed nothing but a fevered dream, then why bother with anything; you can just sit back and wait for the dream to end, or you may end it yourself.”   

She blinked slowly, somewhat baffled at his vehemence. “If indeed our life is nothing but a dream, then we may concentrate on the immediate timeframe and whatever pleasure we glean will not be propagated further. Or we can just will that they shan’t and the universe will morph into that shape we desire.”

“But here’s where we run into another problem altogether. What do peasants dream of? Because if I were one, I should like it above all things that I have food on my table; and yet if you accept that they can morph the universe, they should be able to get food. Yet they aren’t. So then to what degree can one control the dream?”

“To no degree is the right answer,” she answered without much thinking. “And that would make sense if we were to accept the suggestion that we are under the thumb of a cabal of ill-intentioned, vain, egoistical and self-absorbed deities whose only interest lies with their own entertainment. If that were the case indeed, man would be entitled to his escape, because such gods would never pause in their torment. Fatigue is for humans, not gods. But say these gods are neither good, for how could they possibly be, nor evil; we are left with indifferent.”

“Which is one step away from chaos. But everything we have to this point indicates that is not the case. If we were dealing with mere abstractions, then how can you explain the revelations?” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Jon had this notion, this fundamentally flawed optimism which hypothesised the world as a deeply moral as he.

“They belong to those who kneel at the Mother’s altar. Name me one, just one of those revelations, which reflects the whole world within its lines.” Silence fell like a weight between them. “You cannot. For there is no such one.”

“I see your point. But what I am saying is that if we were to agree that we exist in this world without even the slightest reason, that there is no intelligent architect behind the design, that we are, in fact, without purpose, you have felled in one motion one of the strongest pillars of this kingdom. Aegon claimed the throne in part with the aid of adherence to the Faith. It is all good and well to discuss the inherent coldness of the Seven to all matters human, but if you were to apply this notion at a larger scale, you will have invalidated very nearly three hundred years of ruling.”

“There is no reason for which one cannot accept a leader of his superior qualities. It would solve the problem of highborn yet unskilled lords.” At the same time, pure skill was not synonymous with undeterred success.

“That is just ignoring that no lord rules on his own. There are a host of men behind him whose words he relies on. And any lord is obligated, at least in part, to adhere to a set of rules, lest he should incur the wrath of his underlings. And for that lord who should think himself above the judgment of his peers, there are twenty minor houses vying to pull him down from his high seat.” His lips thinned in a grim line as he brought his hand together beneath his chin, lacing his fingers as he did so. “Ultimately tyranny can only flouring so long as the implicit consent remains unmolested.”

Visenya scoffed, throwing her head back, “As though mere peasants can oppose any form of tyranny. They can barely protest their own squalor, let alone the grander distortions at higher levels. The problem with unbridled optimism is that it unequivocally falls into the trap of believing all men have a voice.”

“And you fall into the trap of believing that all men should have a voice. That is simply not the case. Those whose words matter will ultimately reach the forefront of discourse. One may try, of course, to slap shut the mouths of a few peasants, of a small number of villages. But you know very well that the rabble, once put in motion, is a very dangerous weapon. Therefore there is a voice there; it simply lies untapped at the moment.”

“And you would rather it remained so,” she put forth, more a question than an accusation.

“I would rather there were never any need for the thousands of murmurs to coalesce into a deafening roar. The rabble for all its power is still just a gathering of sheep, bleating incessantly. Ultimately, the good ruler will know to make the many a strategic pillar of his rule.”

“Was this not the very notion which pushed many of great-great-grandfather’s reforms? It is all as useless as a pile of ash in the absence of like-minded lords. And the lords shan’t see the light too soon.”

“Alternatively, there are a good many lords who treat their men with decency. It is just the way of the world. Some men will do our kind proud, some will make us hide our faces before the Seven. It remains that for the moment our arrangement is the best there is.”

Little enough solace, Visenya considered, sighing as she carded her fingers through her hair. “I wish there were some way we could do more.”

“The nature of the contract cannot be altered this late in the game. Might be in a few  more hundred years there shall be a better option. When man will be reliable in his decisions and not simply followed his brethren. Or some notion imposed upon him by a septon.”

“I expect if we were heard, the Faith would call us heretics and possibly flog us to death.” It was all good and well to laugh when the danger was far away. Visenya did wonder at times whether it was the right thing to do, to keep her lips sealed and her eyes upon the ground.

“And yet at the same time it is the Faith that gives us purpose. ‘Tis almost as though we live in a complex world where any one matter springs a thousand branches. I know only one thing, sister mine, I am a Prince of the Realm and my duty is to my people and my land. All else is as wind to me.”

“Such is the burden of a visionary. You see in these waters and in these skies a whole world, do you not? Your world. Yet you forget, or wish to at any rate, that you will always be a mere second to our brother.”

Jon smiled, in that way boys did when they knew some great secret they were about to share. “Which suits me very well indeed, for as you pointed out yourself a king is as much beholden to his lord as they are to him. I hope the day never comes when I must shoulder the burden of the throne. But that in no way weakens my bond with my homeland. I needn’t bear the name of shield to be one.”

“I am, as ever, in awe of you and feel rather shamed.” They both laughed. “Still, try not to be too straightforward about such beliefs in our brother’s presence.”

“I trust that Aegon, who has been raised for the crown, will not let us down, Jon. He must have acquired some wisdom.”

“That optimism of yours once more.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Valaena let out a low hiss when Visenya’s elbow connected with her bosom. “Have some care, will you?” her sister chided, turning on her side. Visenya was not listening to her though. She sat up, eyes firmly planted upon the door leading to the outer chamber. “Senya, it is very, very late and I can barely feel my eyes, let alone be bothered to move about.”

“Laena, hush,” she answered in kind, declining the impulse which would have her apply another correction. There was something out there and the more she sat here in wait for whatever it was to go away, the more uneasy she became. It was to do with those strange sounds. Her face scrunched up in concentration.

In the meantime, Valaena too had come to her senses and was sitting up, one hand pressed against Visenya’s shoulder. “What was that?” she demanded, her voice still a low hiss.

“Trouble. The girls, someone has to be there with them.” One advantage of inhabiting a moderately small keep was that before long any manner of disturbance was spread to every corner. As such, one needn’t wait for any manner of warning.

Valaena was already in motion, rolling out of bed. Visenya heard her hit the ground. She did the same, though her descent was more graceful, or so she would like to believe. They both ended up underneath the mattress, pulling out sharp knives. “Do you want to go, or shall I?”

“You go this time. I went the last, aye?” So much like Valaena to keep count. Visenya might have laughed were it not for the fact that her hands were already trembling. But upon hearing those words, Visenya crawled out her hiding spot and eased her way to the door. She lifted the rod away and slowly opened the door. It creaked, despite her wish that it mightn’t. But then there was no one of the other side to hear.

“No one without.” Valaena came out as well.

Together they made they way into the hallway, each with her own weapon in hand. Sounds could be heard but from what Visenya could make out they were coming from somewhere down below. The faint scent of smoke accompanied the noise. “The kitchens, do you think?”

“Nay,” Valaena opinionated. “Sounds more like the great hall to me.” They continued to the nursery.

Without bothering to knock, Visenya pushed the door open, knowing fully well their septa would not be there to greet them. Within there was naught but darkness. The bed was occupied by three unmoving forms. Relief wrapped around her. “They are sleeping,” she told her sister.

Valaena walked in as well and closed the door. Instead of keeping guard, though, she walked to the bed and lean in, shaking the first of the maidens awake. “Aella, wake. Now, wake. Up!” Aella took a bit of convincing but in the end she did open her eyes. Valaena pushed her own dagger into her sister’s hands. “If some whom you do not know should pass Visenya and I, I expect you to protect the children.”

If the day should come, Visenya would ask her sister if she were some sort of prophet, for as soon as she’d stopped speaking, from the other side of the door loud yells assaulted her ears. Her fingers curled tighter around the hilt of her blade. Instinctively moving out of the way, she made the move just in time to avoid having the door hit her.

Unfortunately her luck would not hold, for the splinters gave way not to a saviour, as her heart had dared hope, but to an enemy; a figure thick and it was long. Taken aback, as never before had she been put into a like situation, Visenya felt her wits flee. Alarmed at her own lack of reaction, she tried to force her body into an attack. Nevertheless, she was frozen in the grip of her fears.

And then, as though to remind her of duty, honour and other matters upon which she’d so easily pontificated to her brother of, Valaena jumped at the enemy, a yell upon her lips. Heart thundering in her ears, Visenya somehow managed to tear herself from the horror holding her still.

The enemy had multiplied in the time being. As Valaena wrestled with whoever it was she had jumped upon, Visenya crossed arms with a second attacker. “Leave,” she heard her voice order loud and clear, “leave now, before you are caught. There will be no mercy should my brother find you here.”

A chuckle was the response she received. He gripped her wrist and pulled her to the side, rolling her until her back was pressed to his front. “Easy, she-dragon. We’ve not come for you.”

Valaena fell with a cry. Her head hit the floors with a loud smack. Aella, however, was standing before the bed. Visenya felt something cool press against her throat. “Out of the way, girl, or your sister’s blood will be warming stones.”

The children? Visenya began struggling. “Nay, leave them be. They are mere babes.” Babes who were weeping softly, no doubt thinking themselves into some manner of night terror.

“Quiet,” the harsh voice cracked against her ear. “Take the small one.” His companion hurried to do his bidding. When Vaera hesitated, the blade dug against her skin, the sting of its kiss causing a yelp to emerge from her. Aerea was openly bawling by then, stubbornly holding onto her sister;s hand until they were forced apart.

Their prey in hand, the one who’d grabbed Vaera ran out the door, the crying girl struggling to no avail. Before she could offer further protest, Visenya was pushed with some force ahead. Losing her footing, she fell to the ground, parting words swirling through the bleak darkness. “Tell your King if he wants his daughter back, he had best listen this time.”

“The only thing he’ll listen to is your cries of agony as you burn alive.” She feared though that only the night heard her promise as Aerea and Aella surged towards her and Valaena.  

              

       

    

        

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
> Oooops. Someone forgot to secure the perimeter.
> 
> Dun dun dun
> 
> But no really, sorry for the low quality. My only excuse is that I'm feeling like a truck ran me over.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

 

 

 

Valaena was rubbing the mottled spot stretching over the side of her face. Other than that particularly nasty bruise, she sported no evidence of ill-treatment. Which was just as well, for their poor master had been working his fingers to the bone, trying to get the swelling down and the spot to discolour faster. For her part Visenya listened to the man mutter as he went about his other tasks.

“May I see mother now?” she asked, barely holding herself from tugging on his sleeve. “It has been more than half a day.” Astute as her observation was, it earned her a decisive shake of the head from the master.

“You mustn’t disturb your lady mother,” he answered, the kindly voice tinged with a hint of iron. Were she yet a rebellious hellion still under her mother’s heel, she would have been quelled. As matters stood, her mind roared in protest at being denied and her eyes narrowed with her willing it. “Your Grace, I can only rely on your unerring sense in this. Your lady mother remains under the effects of the brew even as we speak. She needs rest. And she needs to come to terms with what has happened. I know ‘tis not an easy thing, but His Majesty should be arriving soon and until then your brother must work with what he has. That leaves only you to run the keep. I pray you would not fight me on this.”

“I could sit with mother,” Valaena offered. “If aught were to happen, you would know.” Gazing at her sister, Visenya nodded her head with some undue hesitation. She could trust Valaena. That much should have been clear. “Will you go down to the village then?”

“I will.” There was no getting around it. “You must send word if anything should change while I am gone. Promise, Valaena.”

“Of course I will. I already said I would.” Her sister stood, tracing the no doubt painful vestiges of her encounter with the Wildlings one last time, as if her mere touch might change the outcome. “How long must I keep this ointment on?”

“Until the pain has dulled sufficiently,” the man answered. “And do not think to wash it off beforehand. The pain would only return with a vengeance. Aye?” The Seven only knew her sister would have done that if it were at all possible. Visenya might have smiled were she not acutely aware that it had been her hesitation which brought about the end result. If only she’d been braver and struck true at the very beginning, Vaera would still be here with them, ensconced in mother’s arms, and Valaena would not have to suffer. “Be off with you then. And remember, no waking your lady mother before she is ready.”

“I know that, master.” At the very least the petulance in her sister’s voice could be counted upon to remain the same. There were still little things to be glad for it seemed. Visenya sighed and picked up an empty cup as the door opened with a squeak. “I will see you later, sister.”

“Aye.” The door closed, signalling the departure. And then she was alone with the master, wondering if she should broach the subject. Part of her willed the words forth, settling them upon the tip of her tongue. The other half protested, warning that only ill could come out of entertaining those notions. Entertain then she did thought, with all the protest around them. Might be it would have been smarter to detach herself, to coolly assess the situation. But she would need her heart pulled out for that, wouldn’t she?

“One must speak if one expects to be heard, and, indeed, listened to.” The cup was placed back down, the soft scrape of the metal band on wood unnaturally loud in the silence that followed. At times, it seemed to Visenya that her mind stretched out the seconds and minutes into masses of expanded spells of galloping hearts and pounding blood.

“If I had moved faster, I might have been able to foil their plot. I could have saved Vaera.” The truth, as it turned out, did not set one free. Instead, like the boulder tied around the neck of the drowning man, the truth dragged her down into a bottomless ocean of anger and resentment. “She could be hurt. She must be frightened. And I just stood there. I just stood there.”

“I doubt she is hurt, Your Grace. As you have pointed out yourself, the man told you he wished to grab the King’s attention. If so, then he has certainly found a most successful way to do that. It does however leave him with a distinct disadvantage. Caring for Vaera.” She wanted to believe him, desperately. “We must strive to remain hopeful even in the most adverse of situations.”

“Why Vaera though? Why the youngest of us?” Wildlings stole women; that was no secret. It had happened before the Gift had been settled and continued sometime after the new lords took stock of their lands, but the attacks had dwindled considerably with the arrival of knights and armed men. In the last five years there had been not even a single instance in which these people ventured south of the Wall. Of all things to capture the King’s daughter, it was almost as though they wished to start some sort of war.  

“’Tis not for wedding her, if that is your worry. As far as writings indicate, child-brides are not acceptable in their mind.” Or in any decent human being’s mind. Good to know at least part of their culture was decent. “Likely as not, this has to do with how the situation was handled at the Wall.”

“The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch has no ties to the King,” she pointed out. “I’m assuming the Wildlings know as much.”

“They might; they might not care. It does not matter. What should hold our attention is that their actions are highly irregular. And there must be a reason behind it. Now, Your Grace, you had best make haste and prepare for the journey.”

As per that recommendation, she abandoned the cup she’d been previously worrying, and made for the door. Without waited one of the servant girls. Her face, sallow and drawn, greeted Visenya. “Your Grace?”

“Ready my cloak. I am going to the village.” The girl nodded and set off at the nod of Visenya’s head. She followed at a slower pace, marvelling at what oppressive a turn the silence had taken. There had been word from the village. Apparently, the plan had been carefully crafted to take from the keep as many men as could be and leave it relatively defenceless. In other words, their wisdom and cunning had won these people a princess for whatever reason they sought such a captive out.

The village itself had only suffered minor losses, well-protected as it had been. One of the barns had been set on fire though and a cow had lost its life. Or so she’d been told. There were only two scores of dead men, a few of them done in by the burning barn, and a few missing women. To be sure, the numbers spoke of a relatively successful intervention.

If only sweet victory had been a whole ripe fruit. Alas, ‘twas not to be. Visenya looked up at the sound of footsteps. One of the servants was carrying chairs. He stopped and was would have bowed at the sight of her had she not spoken, “There is no need for that; you’ve matters to attend to.” Without a word he carried on.

The door of her chamber was wide open and on the bed laid her cloak. Visenya allowed the servant girl awaiting her to aid her in putting on the garb. She then proceeded to relinquish her doeskin slippers in favour of sturdier footwear. “You need not come with me. I shall; have guard enough and finding another horse as gentle and companionable for you to ride would take too long. Have but a message written to my lady mother so that she will have my assurance beside my sister’s word that I am well.”

“Aye, Your Grace. Shall I make mention of where you are?” Visenya nodded. She did not precisely follow the servant girl, but knew she would retrieve what was needed from the drawers. She might have asked Valaena to write for her, but mother knew Valaena’s writing and might be liable to disbelieve such proof. Besides, what was the point of teaching her servant girl letters if the latter was never going to make use of her knowledge?

She allowed the girl her grapple with words, in the meantime assuring herself that there was naught missing from her person. Best to be certain, Visenya told herself, palming the small pouch she kept on a small stool near the bed. “When you are done with that slip it underneath mother’s door. Valaena will know what to do with it.”

Without waiting for an answer, she hurried without, running down the stairs, though her mind warned that she would be waited for even if she walked like a sane human being and did not break her neck. Thoroughly unimpressed with the sound argument, she sped further, reaching the inner courtyard. The small stone bridges running along from one island to another. She caught sight of Ull Magnar and raised her hand in greeting. The young man bowed his head in acknowledgement, holding the reins of her horse and those of his own.

She made her way to the young man’s side. “Where is your squire?” she asked, looking to see if little Karrhol Moss would appear from some hiding spot.

“The gods only know, Your Grace. I sent him for a cup of ale and he’s still not shown his face.”

“Drinking so early in the day?” Rickard Liddle appeared from within the stables, leading his horse towards them. “Your Grace, we are most glad that you are joining us after all.”

“’Tis only right that I offer my brother whatever aid I can and the people some bit of comfort, I whichever manner I may.”  The Little Liddle grinned, uncovering sharp teeth.

“Have a care that Magnar here does not have his squire poison him to death with that witch’s brew he keeps downing,” the man continued. Ull sputtered a protest. “None of that. You’ll fall flat on your face and that shan’t gain you any favours.”

Laughter came from the side. “Wouldn’t make much of a difference whether Magnar’s face meets the ground. Your Grace is only too kind to put up with him.” Artos Flint offered his hand. “Allow me to be of aid.” She accepted, knowing that had been as subtle a sign as there was ever going to be that they were to proceed. Which suited her just as well, for their braying teasing, no matter how amusing upon other occasions, somewhat needled in the aftermath of the previous night.

Once atop her horse, she took hold of the reins. “Artos and I will guard the front,” Rickard Liddle said, “while Magnar and Locke shall protect the rear.”

“The danger is past, but I thank you all the same.” Visenya inclined her head. “Let us proceed then, my good men; we’ve much to see to.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“The blacksmith’s daughter?” The merchant’s wife nodded, tsking softly. “I cannot believe it.”

“Always was too sure of herself, that one,” Myra said in a quivering voice. “Thought she could take on any danger.”

“With good reason. The girl could have taken down a bull,” Martyn, the miller’s son, chimed in, his young, skinny hands hugging a sack of grain. “You should have seen her fighting, Your Grace; she gave that Wildling more than a fair share of trouble.”

“Dirty creature; if only her father hadn’t been circled by fair few enemies, he would have been better able to help.” Roise was no lily-livered maid, as far as Visenya knew. As Martyn had pointed out, the blacksmith’s daughter would not go down without a fight and she would likely find some way to escape if the gods were good. If not, well, she would simply speak to Jon about bringing her back.

“Your Grace,” Artos called for her attention, forcing her gaze from the merchant’s wife to the her companion. “Willam spotted Lord Stark’s banner flying in the near distance. He should be upon us soon.”

“My grandfather?” Hope, she was certain, was a newly found sibling, awaiting that her arms encircle it. She knew, of course, that her uncle would come; he always did upon her brother’s nameday and she and her sisters could always count on gifts on their nameday. And she trusted that he would be only too glad to help, but Uncle Ned had only half the presence of his lord father. It might well be, in addition, that her mother would find it easier to reply on grandfather than on Uncle Ned.

“I know not. Even the far-eye leaves some things to be desired,” Artos chuckled. “We checked the barn, Your Grace. Methinks there is enough in the keep’s granaries to replace the loss. We could, if you will, send for supplies from the South.”

“Nay. If our granaries can sustain the loss then there is no need to indebt ourselves.” Nodding him away, she returned her attention to the merchant’s wife. “Myra, I cannot express how glad I am this attack did not do more damage. And your man will pull through; of that I am certain.”

The master was still with him, but then that man had a tendency to ramble on and on.  Myra flushed and nodded her gratitude. “You needn’t be burdened about your sister, Your Grace. His Grace will see to the matter and once His Majesty is here, she will be returned in short order.”

“I can only hope it will be so.” Visenya handed Martyn another sack of grain, directing him to an old woman with a babe in her arms. “Her son died just this morning, did he not?” she asked the boy. “Give her this. And tell her not to hesitate to speak to the septon if she needs more.”

“How is Her Grace?” Myra took her hand encouragingly, no doubt trying to will the truth out of her. Visenya considered not telling her. But then she would find out whether she said it or gossip spread.    

“Not well, you can imagine. The blackness took her when she found out about Vaera. The master gave her a draught and I left her in Valaena’s care. Her ladies, of course, will be there as well, but I do not expect she will be fully revived until her daughter is brought back.”

“And little wonder. Having Her Grace ripped from her just after losing another child. Your lady mother is stronger than I could ever be.” Visenya shrugged. She tried not to think about her mother’s miscarriages too often. It was a frightening enough thing to have witnessed, let alone to consider she too would doubtlessly have her share of such incidents.

“Indeed. Her strength shall see her through.” Her grandmother on father’s side lost most of her babes, with only father, one brother and one sister surviving, then her grandmother on mother’s side had at least a couple of lost pregnancies. And mother had had three that Visenya knew of. There had been that one when they were in King’s Landing at the sickness swept her father’s court, then there had been little Aemon, born much too soon for his lungs to sustain him; and the last had been Valarr whom father had not even met.

Myra sighed, gently tugging on Visenya’s arm. “Sometimes the gods are cruel. But these matters cannot be predicated and ‘tis no fault of anyone who is living. Do not spend too much time brooding over these matters. Think better that you will soon be a woman grown and greener grass may always be found.”

Sight swarming with the image of arriving riders, Visenya pushed away the memory of her youngest brother and his tiny blue corpse. “Allow me a moment, Myra. Methinks my grandfather would like it the better should I greet him personally.”

And indeed, as it turned out, her grandfather had come. His horse trotted up to her and she dared a grim smile for his benefit. “Grandfather,” Visenya said, feeling tears well up in her eyes. “I worried you would never arrive.”

Her grandparent, dismounted, allowing her full sight of a man she’d not seen in some time. Standing tall and proud, it seemed to her that the years had not changed him much, but for gifting his frame rounder lines. He bowed, and took her hand in his. “Your Grace.” His thumb pressed soothing circles into her skin. “Little Visenya, what is this I hear about an attack?”

Unable to help herself, Visenya lunged into her grandfather’s comforting embrace. “There have not been any attacks in years. How could they get past the Black Brothers? And why take Vaera of all people?”

“They took Vaera?” Whoever had told him, made a point of hiding such a relevant fact?

Visenya glanced up in time to see her uncle dismount. “They did. Valaena and I tried to keep the children safe, but they deliberately set up the distraction in the village to have easy access to the keep.”

“And Valaena?” her uncle questioned.

“Well; she escaped unscathed, but for a bruise or two.” Her grandfather’s arm secured her. “I found it strange that they would demand the King’s attention of all things. And thought that might be word had reached Winterfell of some request made at the Wall.”

“Nay, indeed,” Uncle Ned answered. “Had there been we would have said such. But then it might well be the Lord Commander neglected for whatever reason to make such a request known. You know well the man is not beholden to us.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another disaster. Well, I'll take it that my duty is done for the moment and go back to my usual delights.
> 
> Tell me what you thought of the chapter if you wish.
> 
> All the best.


	4. VERY IMPORTANT

Hi everyone,

Sol here. So, I’m sure you’ve heard about the new link-tax and copyright reform the EU is looking to introduce into the member states of the union. To those of you who haven’t or are not from the EU, basically this new piece of legislation is looking into regulating all activities dependent on content (be it videos, songs, news articles, books etc). They would do that by monitoring what the users of a platform post and if copyrighted content is determined to be used, it would be considered criminal activity.

The only way it wouldn’t be deemed criminal activity is if the users paid a tax (hence why we call it a link-tax).

The vote will be held on the 20th of June and in case the law gets passed, I think it’s obvious I won’t be able to post anymore on any platform (be it this or FF.net or some other site). So what happens is this:  I am starting to archive all of my fics. Those of you who want to request a certain fic can find me [here](https://discord.gg/FZ3ep6r).

Further updates information is: [here](https://discord.gg/FZ3ep6r).

Questions are welcome, but for discretion’s sake, sensitive ones are better posted on discord, or if you must on my e-mail address.

Thank you for your time and sorry to bring you somewhat unpleasant news.

P.S. Every story with more than 20 subs will get a post like this. If you’ve read one, you’ve read them all. I’ll take them down after the 20th.


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